Bluebells in the late December
by aRegularJo
Summary: She doesn't want kids, really. She just wants to make an imprint on the world she knows she will soon leave. Hadley-centric, K/13, Ch/Cam. Formerly writing under "lyssanick"
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Bluebells in the late December

**Author: **Jo (formerly Lyssanick)

**Summary: **She didn't want kids, really. It was just a desperate craving to make an imprint on the world she knew she would soon leave.

**A/N:** This is what I do instead of writing final papers. It's a one-shot posted in two parts and set a few years in the future focusing on Hadley processing her imminent mortality. It takes place in the same 'verse as my other two stories in House, "Tis the Season" and "Anticoagulation." (You should really, really read Anticoagulation). A Kutner/Hadley romance was supposed to be touched upon in that one but ended up being cut. And if you read it you'll get the ending of this one, but you should still really read this one.

* * *

She doesn't like kids—really. She never wanted them. Even before her diagnosis, the idea of raising children frightened her in the vague way that thunderstorms and large spiders still did: There wasn't a reason, but they just sort of freaked her out. But now, now that her stupid biological clock has kicked in at the same time her disease went from a vague-future-occurrence to reality, she wants them in the way anyone wants something they can't have. A desperate craving to make an imprint on the world she knew she would soon leave, that's all.

She'll sometimes walk past the nursery—slowly, so she doesn't trip over her dragging feet—and hold a palm to the window. She'll try as hard as she can to hold it steady, mentally counting, thinking_ this is how long I could hold a baby for without dropping it_. She can usually make it to forty or so, if she tries hard and it's a good day. Then the spasms will start, almost always (she doesn't know why) in her index finger, then travel down her hand. She'll watch in fascination before slowly dragging (literally) herself away. She doesn't need a walker yet, but she will soon.

So when she's sitting with Cameron, Wilson and House at lunch one day (they were the only people she liked in the cafeteria; Kutner was working and Chase, who is always preferable to his wife, was in surgery as well. The hospital has become a noticeably lonelier place since Taub and his wife moved to Florida and even Foreman left for Boston.) and House is mocking Cameron's new, pregnancy-induced boobs and Cameron is ignoring him and telling Wilson about an awful teenaged babysitter who actually gave Elizabeth _aspirin_ from her purse, she gets an idea.

"If you need someone to sit sometime," she offers, "Kutner and I can do it."

The table quiets, because everyone knows she's never shown an interest even in child patients. "Have you seen her hold a pen lately?" House snarks first. "She tends to drop it. Like how she drops most things."

"Elizabeth's three in four months," Cameron says. "She bites anyone who tries to pick her up."

"No, she just bites everyone," House says, despite the fact that everyone knows he enjoys the hell out of the blond devil-spawn.

"Just you. and only when you cheat during Cane Limbo," Cameron says, brushing House off quickly. Remy wonders what Cane Limbo is and realizes she probably can figure it out. "You sure? I mean, I think she's a fantastic kid, but obviously I'm biased."

She shrugs. "Yeah sure. Kutner's good with her." Kutner hasn't actually spent much time with the toddler, but he just would be.

A few days later Cameron finds her in the clinic, because that's where she is most of the time these days. It's easier to work in the clinic than it is to give a lumbar puncture. "Memorial Day weekend is … kind of an anniversary for Chase and me," she explains. "We want to go out to dinner on Thursday night. Would you and Kutner be able to watch Lizzie?"

She thinks through their schedules. "Yeah," she says slowly. "That should work. What time were you thinking?"

She chooses to tell him about their new source of extra income as he's doing her rehab. "Baby-sitting?" he said. "You didn't get enough of that as a kid?"

"I was an emo high shooler," she replies. "Nobody wanted me babysitting their spawn."

"Maybe it was the referring to their children as 'spawn,'" he says, deadpan, as he stretches and massages her leg.

"It could have been that too, yes," she replies, wincing slightly. "But I already told Cameron we'd watch Elizabeth on Thursday night. Apparently it's a big-deal anniversary for them."

"What anniversary isn't?" he asks. He looks straight at her and she gets the uneasy feeling, the one that only he can give her, that he's mentally untangling the complicated knots of her thoughts, uncovering the motives behind this seemingly altruistic gesture. He squeezes her thigh and says, "OK. She's a pretty simple kid, right?"

So at 20 till seven on Thursday night he drives to the Cameron-Chase house, because she lost her driving privileges six months ago when she nearly drove the car through the garage door. He also snagged the pill box before they left, which is good because she's got at least three to take in the time it will take for Cameron and Chase to go to dinner, go to a movie, and pick up an ice cream.

Despite Cameron's remark that Elizabeth won't let anyone pick her up these days, she's cradled comfortably against Chase's side when he opens the door. He's wearing jeans and a light sweater. Remy sees Elizabeth at least once a week when she's walking into the hospital with her parents, but it's striking how ethereally gorgeous this baby is—mostly she looks like Cameron, but with blonde curls Remy suspects come from Chase (it took her two years to realize Cameron was actually not a natural blonde). She's almost luminously pale, with doll-bright blue eyes, and is dressed in a mint T-shirt and cotton-candy-pink capris with cute white Keds. "Come in," he says. "Al—Cameron's still getting ready so I was just giving Lizzie dinner. Lizzie, you wanna say hello to Dr. Kutner and Dr. Hadley?"

Remy didn't know it was possible to feel judged by someone under the age of three, but it is. "Hi," she says warily before suddenly wrapping her arms around her father's neck and whispering something.

Chase laughs at his kid, and it's cute, how obviously he loves her. Her heart pangs once, twice. "She says you're pretty, Dr. Hadley. I don't know why she's shy all of the sudden. But come in. We're in the kitchen, you guys remember the house, right?" Cameron and Chase had purchased the place about two years ago; had thrown a housewarming party that Remy remembered had served great tuna towers.

He leads them back to the kitchen, which is huge like the rest of the house, and yells, "Allison? Kutner and Thirteen are here! Also," he says, in a much more conversational tone, just to them, "we're cutting it close with the reservation."

"I know, I know," Cameron says, coming into the kitchen from behind. "I had to try and fit into some of my regular clothes. Shoot me."

"Lemme guess," Chase says, not turning to face his wife. "You went with the dress with the big belt around the middle that's all flowy and purple and Egyptian-style." He's right: Cameron's in a lovely, deep purple tunic-dress with a black belt above her bump and gold around the neck and hemline. Despite being massively pregnant, she still doesn't look huge, which honestly isn't all that surprising.

"I know, I'm predictable. Imagine that, I don't want to waste money on the pregnancy wardrobe when there are _two_ coming this time," Cameron says.

"Still look great, Ally," he volleys back, and she blushes a little. It's a weird side of Cameron to see, this "Ally," and it makes Cameron and Chase make more sense.

Chase somehow situated Elizabeth in front of a plate of chicken nuggets, carrots and celery when Remy wasn't watching, and Elizabeth's now dubiously dipping everything in ranch dressing. "She doesn't eat vegetables unless there's ranch," Cameron says. "But make sure she eats all of them," she turns to Chase. "Her lunch box came back with all the vegetables in it today." Chase rolls his eyes in mock-abject horror. "Seriously, Rob. The daycare's overcrowded."

"Of course it is, it also happens to be in the hospital," Chase says back. He turns to her and Kutner then. "Okay, so we're going to Christie's for dinner, and then a movie, and then possibly dessert."

"The numbers for all the restaurants and movie theatres are on the fridge," Cameron says, motioning to a stainless-steel refrigerator covered in "art" done by Elizabeth. "You have our cellphones and pager numbers. If anyone from the hospital calls tell them it's an anniversary and then if they still need us—it'd be Chase probably—have them call the cellphones. Her room is the second door on the right upstairs, the bathroom is the third door. She usually goes to bed around 8:30."

"She requires at least two stories," Chase throws in. "Do the voices; you'll win points."

"Her pajamas are on the rocking chair, too," Cameron adds. "A couple of her favorite DVDs—I'm really sorry, but she's in this Barbie Princess stage right now—are on the coffee table in the living room. And there's a swing set outside. Since she didn't eat all her vegetables at lunch no I-C-E cream tonight."

"That should be it," Chase said. "Can you think of anything else?" Cameron shakes her head. "Alright, we're out. If you need _anything_ … just call. Seriously, anything. We should be back by 11:30."

"Goodbye, my beautiful girl," Cameron says, hugging Elizabeth, and Chase kisses her forehead. "Be good, m'kay?"

"Yeah," Elizabeth says, sitting quietly as her parents leave. She must be used to this, Remy realizes, because they're always dropping her somewhere. As soon as they're gone, Elizabeth holds up a chicken nugget. "You want one? Daddy cooks them good."

"No, thank you," Remy says. They usually eat later so they'll order after she goes to bed.

"Ok. I'm done then," Elizabeth says decidedly. House has mentioned that the girl is smart, with a big vocabulary, but Remy is still surprised. She wonders what a normal two-year-old would be like. She wonders for a second what her two-year-old would be like, maybe even a two-year-old with Kutner, but banishes that thought because it can't belong.

"You sure? You were supposed to finish your celery," Kutner says uncertainly. He's scared of Cameron, she can tell.

Elizabeth shoots them the look that Chase reserves for stupid people. "Mum doesn't _know_ I didn't," she points out.

Kutner—and Remy, too—is slightly taken aback. "They leave her with House too much."

"You know House!" she says excitedly. "He comes to take me out of daycare when I'm bored. He taught me a new word last week. It's called _moron._"

"You shouldn't call people that," Remy tries.

"House says I can call Wilson and my dad that," she says. "He knows other cool words, too, like _ass_, but I'm only allowed to call him that, Dr. Cuddy says. I don't know why."

That's a story to ask her parents, obviously, but to Elizabeth the conversation is closed. "Let's go play outside. You can push," she tells Kutner. Remy trails, a little uncertain about touching the girl. Her chorea have been manageable today, but they're sneaky little bitches right now, stopping and starting with an awful randomness. She dashes out the back way, and Kutner darts after her so she doesn't get lost in the waning spring twilight.

By the time Remy's put the plate away, Kutner has her strapped in a swing. Remy takes a seat in Elizabeth's view and grabs fistfuls of grass before letting them trail loosely in the wind.

"So are you two _married_, like Mummy and Daddy, or are you like Dr. House and Dr. Cuddy?" she asks. "And why don't you come over? You're doctors. Daddy says."

"We're like Cuddy and House, sort of," Kutner says. They'll never been as over-the-top ridiculous as those two, fighting in front of five or six people or House openly joking about their sex life. "And we're very busy at work, too."

"So are Mum and Daddy. That's why I go to daycare," she points out, in an _obviously _tone. "Do you have kids, like me? Mum and Daddy are having more kids. They're girls, like me, and it's why Mum looks like she ate a ball right now. There's babies." Her eyes are remarkably intelligent, and Remy wonders again if it's normal for two-year-olds to calmly process pregnancy.

"Nope, no kids," Remy says carefully.

"Too bad. They could go to preschool with me," Elizabeth says. She slows in her swing and comes to sit with Remy. "Are you pulling the grass? Why are you pulling the grass?"

"I … don't know," Remy says honestly.

"Oh, ok," she says, getting up. "Let's go watch Barbie Princess, OK?"

Even watching a movie with her is somehow exhausting, and when 8:30 rolls around, Remy signals to Kutner that she can't handle the bedtime madness right now. The chorea are beginning to pick up, and while it's been fun and fascinating playing with their kid, she doesn't want to fuck up bedtime by not being able to turn the pages. It's awful, bitter medicine, but babysitting is a bromide against the desire to have a child. It's a reminder of how physically impossible it is, and she wonders why Kutner, who is fantastic with Elizabeth, is wasting his time on her halfway-there carcass.

So Kutner tucks in Elizabeth, and Remy can hear them laugh, and she sits lengthwise on the couch and reads old copies of _JAMA_ underneath a giant candid of Chase and Cameron from their wedding.

Kutner finally bounces downstairs. He lifts her legs and slides underneath them so her calves are in his lap, and starts massaging them almost unconsciously.

"You're good with her," she murmurs, not quite ready to look him in the eye.

He shrugs. "She's an easy kid to get along with. Considering her parents, it could have been so, so much worse."

She laughs, and he says, "You want to order?"

"Sure. What are you up for?"

He shrugs. "Indian?" he loves cheap, crappy Indian food, for some reason. Maybe it's because he grew up on hamburgers and spaghetti. They've been together nine months and it's one of the most curious things about him.

So they order food and raid the freezer for Chase's ice-cream stash, before also raiding the DVD collection. They fool around during the first movie but she makes him watch another because Cameron apparently has the same taste in movies as she does. "This babysitting thing is pretty easy," she comments as he brings popcorn from the kitchen. "I wish I'd gotten in on the deal earlier."

"So you have fun tonight?" he says. Now he's not looking her in the eyes.

"Worse ways to spend a Thursday than with you," she jokes, knowing she avoiding his non-question. But then her heart shifts and she bites the bullet, asking the question that is at the root of this adventure in babysitting. "Do you want kids? You're really good with them."

He's been rubbing her thigh with an almost-unconscious motion, and his hand stills. She knows the answer. She wonders, again, why he is with her, why he is wasting this year or these two years to take care of her. Soon her memory will begin to dissolve, soon she will be in a wheelchair. But she suspects he will still be there and she needs to know why.

He shrugs, looks away, looks back. "I … haven't really given it much thought. I guess eventually, though, I think I've always thought it might be something that I would like."

She takes a minute to process the loops and twirls in that sentence, then nods. She's inexplicably angry. She knew that would be his answer—either that or he would like to say no, and that would upset her more—but it hurts have it verbalized. Because she can't, and for the first time she might want to.

She nods, and he reaches for her hand. "Remy …" he starts, but she pulls back, rolls her arms away to put the magazine back on the table. The DVD is in the background but if you asked her she couldn't identify the actors or even recall the name.

"No, no, I'm … fine," she says. She lifts her legs from his lap and gets up, walks towards the kitchen. A spasm shoots through her back but she stays steady. "I'm just going in there now." She turns in the doorway, willing her own bravery. "Please," she says, and his eyes cloud and his shoulders slump, but he nods and settles back onto the couch.

* * *

Love it? Hate it? Let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews! Here's the second (and final) part. If you want to know more about the Cameron-Chase family, check out "Anticoagulation." Seriously. It is all explained there.

Forgot to add the disclaimer, though obviously I don't own.

* * *

She's barely been in the kitchen for five minutes, reading the _Journal of American Immunology_, when Cameron and Chase come home. "You two're early," she says, shifting to stand.

"I got tired of peeing every six minutes," Cameron jokes as she sets her purse on the island. "How was Lizzie? Where's Kutner?"

"Oh, he's… he's just in the other room," House has made her a worse liar than she was five years ago. Or maybe it's the personal-growth-relationship bullshit. Or its her rapidly approaching mortality. She doesn't know. "Elizabeth was fantastic. Did you know that House has taught her how to say 'ass'?"

Cameron and Chase exchange glances heavy in relationship subtext. "Yeah, we did, actually, she asked what it meant," Chase says. "You said Kutner's in the living room? Might as well treat him to a beer for helping out." He quickly grabs two bottles of Beck's from the cooler and heads out.

"Tea?" Cameron asks, pulling a kettle out from a floor-level cabinet. "I always like to have some around this time."

If Kutner's drinking a beer with Chase—the two of them actually get along really well—that means she's trapped. "Sure, but I only drink decaf."

"Hey, me too," Cameron laughs, and Remy remembers the whole pregnant-women-and-caffeine thing.

"Right," she says quickly. "Sorry—just used to reminding people."

"Not a problem. I hope you don't mind mixed berry," Cameron looks down and sees the journal. "You can't possibly find that interesting."

She shrugs. "Not too much else to read," she smiles to lighten the words.

Cameron laughs. "We have a whole library, it's just … back-like. Chase has kind of overtaken it." She sets a cup of tea in front of Remy. "Okay, seriously. You're in a much different mood than you were when we left you. You sure Elizabeth didn't do something awful? I know she's capable of it. House takes her a lot."

Remy shakes her head and takes a long sip. "Did you want kids, before Elizabeth and … now?" she gestures vaguely in the direction of Cameron's belly before a spasm causes her to yank her arm back to her side.

Cameron's green eyes go from foggy to clear, and she takes a sip to give herself a bit of time to find her phrasing. "No. Not _really_, not before I realized I needed to be with Robert. I wasn't against them, I figured it would happen, but not in a realistic way until I figured out how serious I was about him."

Remy nods and takes another sip of tea. Cameron waits. Remy has no idea why she's sitting in Cameron's kitchen drinking tea like they're friends, but she is, so she's obligated to talk, right? "Kutner … Kutner wants kids." Cameron breaks eye contact and stares into the clear purple liquid. "And I feel like a massive bitch … for wanting him to stick with me. He's pretty old, he's 35, he should get those things soon, if that's what he wants." She doesn't say the second half, the part where maybe she wants kids, because she doesn't really. She just wants time.

Cameron finally looks up again. "Did I ever tell you about my first husband?"

No, and Remy's a little shocked. Her jaw drops slightly. "No. … And I thought you just said that you didn't think about having kids until Chase?"

Cameron breaks eye contact again, looks distantly, before returning. "That's because I didn't. I'm not sure whether I'm sad or not that House never brought it up as a slur." She takes a sip. "I was married once before, when I was 21. Junior in college. He … had thyroid cancer, it metastasized to his brain. He lived for six months after we got married. I knew … I knew before we got married that it was in his brain, that technically that meant it was fatal."

"Oh," is all Remy can say.

"My point," Cameron says gently, "is that I didn't care. I threw myself into it, probably messed myself up for the next _decade_—and I didn't care. I loved him and nothing else mattered. And it was tough and hellish and awful but I still wouldn't trade those six months of marriage with him for an easy ride during my 20s, or anything like that." She took another sip. "Don't question his commitment. You need it too much. And he won't care."

Though delivered in a kind tone, the words feel harsh. Because the implication is that if Kutner wants the family eventually he can get it, the way that Cameron has. A decade isn't the eternity that she doesn't have. But she can't yell at Cameron, not when she's trying so hard and talking about something so obviously painful. "You were the giver," she points out instead. "Not the taker."

"True," Cameron points out. "But I was taking plenty from him, too. I needed him too. If you have … If you know what your end will be, why focus on it? Why not go for it? Life's too short for _everyone_ and for you …" she looks at Remy pleadingly, "and for him, just … accept it. Don't question it. Really. It's there. He doesn't care. Don't spend your time worrying about it."

She stares at Cameron. "But you could move on," she finally says, "because you were the one who got to stay. And you did." She knows it doesn't make sense; that one minute she's saying she feels selfish for wanting him to stick around and the other minute implying Cameron betrayed her husband by not sticking around.

Cameron, weirdly, seems to understand, though. "Honestly, Hadley, a lot of me didn't. I'm nowhere near who I once was."

Remy thinks for a moment before downing the rest of her drink. "Thanks for the tea. I should find Kutner; it's getting late and we should head home."

Cameron nods. "Of course. Anytime."

Kutner and Chase are in the living room, empty beer bottles on the coffee table, watching a surgical show. "Look at that technique. Sloppy," Chase is saying when she walks in. Neither of them sees her.

"Hey," she says, announcing her entrance. "You … all set to go? It's getting late."

"Of course," he says, and they thank Chase and Cameron and head out to the car.

The ride isn't long, but it's silent. Finally, as they're walking into their apartment she punctures the quiet with, "I never wanted kids, even before …"

He tosses the keys on the table. "Okay."

"What, it's okay because I'll be dead soon?" she shoots back, frustrated at his acquiescence.

He looks like she just slapped him. "Of course not. Honestly, Remy, how could you think that?"

"Because," she says, and she wants to tear out her hair until she's bald. "Because you want kids, but you don't want them with me. I mean, I'm obviously damaged genes here."

"I don't want _kids_ with you," he says, "because you don't want kids. If you wanted kids I'd want kids with you."

"But you _want_ kids, and yet you're here," she reiterates.

"The kids aren't a dealbreaker," he looks so confused and she wants to have him hold her and let her cry, mourn her impending and premature death, but she can't. Not yet.

"_Obviously_, because you knew going into it that it would only be a three or four year commitment!" she shouts. "You _can_ still get the kids, if you want them."

"I don't care about kids," he says, looking ever more lost.

"Yes, you do, or else you wouldn't _want_ them," she insists.

"What is this _about_?" he finally yells back. "Because it's not about the not-kids."

"Yes it _is_. If you want kids, you should go _get_ them. I'm not having them even if there was a chance I'd see it live past the age of two! But you should go get them."

"Right now," he says, his face close to hers. "Right now, all I want is you. I'm not _thinking _about kids. You asked a question about something. This is enough. It's exactly enough."

And his words are exactly the right and the wrong things to say, and she shoves him. "Why? Why did you start this? Why are we even here?" She thinks about Cameron's marriage and how it seems to be a limited-time sacrifice. She thinks about the state she was in when they first hooked up, with the twitches starting, visibly. She thinks of her last office romance, how she twisted Foreman until she was bored with her amusement.

"Because," he says slowly, taking her hands and knotting them with his. "Because one day I decided I liked you. And you said yes."

"You know I was sick. You knew this could only be temporary," she's losing it, her voice is fading to whisper.

"So?" he says, and she thinks of his parents, the photos she's seen of them, the clippings he's saved about their deaths. He's lost it all before, she knows, and he'll lose it all again. "If we're both happy right now what's the problem?"

The problem is she can't think of anything worse than losing him, and that's scaring her.

When she doesn't speak, he reaches for her hair. "You know I'll be there, when it gets worse. You know it. You know it doesn't matter."

Instead she hits him again before regaining her composure. "You want kids and you have all these years and you deserve them, and you should go _use_ them because sometimes it's too late."

"Remy—I want to be with you. Nothing. Else. _Matters_. If I wake up alone some day in the future I'll be upset then. But until then, I'm here, and you make me happy."

She steps back, because he is too close. "We're at _the_ point," she says randomly, but he knows what _the _point is: the point when normal couples figure out if it's marriage, if it's cutting losses. And the rational answer is so painfully obvious she wants to cry. "And either I'm going to make you very sad one day or you're going to make me very sad." It's unbearable to think about what happens to her if he leaves. She's only downhill, in every possible way, from here.

He steps forward, getting visibly angry. "No. You're being ridiculous. I don't know what I need to … to _prove_, but I'm here and you're stuck with it. We have today, and we have tomorrow and the next day, and that's all you can expect. You want to know why I love you? The stupid things. How bad your jokes are. How you still bite your cuticles even if you're in your 30s. Because you dance when you vacuum. You want to know why I'm still here? _Because _I love you. This isn't pity. This isn't waiting, this is real, and would you just _accept_ it? I don't want to _think_ about three years down the line, and you _shouldn't_ think of that." He envelopes her in a crushing hug as she struggles to keep her rapid breathing under control. He pulls back and puts both hands on her cheeks. "Why are you even bringing this up?" And she can see how much the inevitability of her disease scares him too, when he lets it.

She clings to him, and finally starts to cry. He leads her to the couch; she puts her head in his lap and he strokes her cheek silently. Her breath evens and her tears stop, and she rolls her head to see him staring worriedly at her. "I would, you know," she finally says, almost inaudible. "If I could. I would. With you." She doesn't know if that's her or the disease but at this point they're one and the same, aren't they?

His heart breaks in his eyes. "I know," he says, and then, "I would too. In a heartbeat."

He's wrong, because there will never be enough time for this to be enough. But if she's only got three years, and he says he'll be there, she wants to believe him, wants to be this selfish. She wants it to be real badly enough, and maybe soon she'll be able to _let_ it be enough. But there will never be enough of these moments, even if she lived another 60 years, which only heightens their preciousness. By that logic, maybe it is enough. If she tries hard enough to forget everything else and remember only that _he_ is _here_ and _now _is _now_, it is enough. Or will be. One day.

She reaches for his hand, slips hers into it. The small muscles twitch like a pulse. She squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back.


End file.
